


Harry Potter and the Joys of Parenthood

by sabby1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, parent/teacher meeting; Principal's Office
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5381873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabby1/pseuds/sabby1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter receives an immediate summons to Hogwarts to address misconduct by his son Albus and another student. When he arrives at the school, the parent of the other student is none other than Draco Malfoy. Of course, things can only go downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry Potter and the Joys of Parenthood

Harry Potter was on the phone with his wife, Ginny, when an official looking eagle owl arrived and tapped on the ground floor window at the front of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Distracted from the barrage of words echoing through the receiver, Harry opened the window and allowed the majestic bird entry, accepting the scroll from its well-groomed talons. He quickly fetched a treat from a bowl atop the mantel and sent the bird on his way. The inscription on the red wax seal seemed to admonish him personally; 'Draco dormiens nunquam tittilandus'.

“Yes, Ginny. I know. Hold on, we just received a letter from Hogwarts,” he said as he clamped the receiver between his ear and neck, and opened the scroll to read. 

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Potter:

Due to an unfortunate incident and as a matter of some urgency involving your son Albus Severus and another student of the same year, I regret to inform you that you are hereby summoned to my office immediately upon receipt of this message to discuss the nature of the event with the required discretion and to concur upon further disciplinary action as necessary. 

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall  
Headmistress reinstated pro tempore  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

“Uh-oh.” Harry's brows furrowed underneath his famous lightning scar as he read the missive over again. The well-remembered timbre of Professor McGonagall's disapproving tone resonated in his head, drowning out the familiar tidal rise of his wife's present ire. 

"Ginny, I can't talk about this now.” He was certain that, whatever had happened, it was truly bad if it warranted an immediate citation to the Headmistress' office. “Al is-”

Unfortunately, his wife seemed to be of the opinion that the importance of her imminent needs outweighed those of their child's education. The deluge of words continued, wearing away at his patience like water at a stone. 

“Gin... No.” His tone managed to staunch the flow. “I'm not going to argue with you about this now. I have to go to Hogwarts." He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. The brief intermission ended, as quickly as it had started, with a clipped invitation. “Yes, I'll see you in Qatar for the final.” 

He hung up the phone and tried to compose himself. It wouldn't do to appear before the Headmistress of Hogwarts in his current state. He read the letter again and shook his head. The message was too vague to glean any idea of what had transpired. He would have to find out in person. 

After a short apparition to the village of Hogsmeade, Harry quickly ducked into Honeydukes sweet shop before his popularity could draw too much unwanted attention. Luckily, the secret tunnel leading from the shop's basement to the humpbacked statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor on the third floor of Hogwarts Castle had not been destroyed during the Battle of Hogwarts 24 years prior. Thus, Harry could make his way to his Alma Mater in peace and relative haste.

When Harry arrived at the Gargoyle statue in front of the Headmistress' Office, to his surprise, so did none other than Draco Malfoy.

The man had aged gracefully, notwithstanding the receding hairline that drew emphasis to his pointed chin. Both taller and thinner than Harry, he struck an imposing figure in an elegant black overcoat buttoned high on his neck. 

“Bollocks.” The curse slipped from Harry's lips before he could stop himself.

“Eloquent as always, Potter.” Malfoy's derisive sneer had not changed a smidgen over the decades. 

The gravelly rasp of grinding stone cut off anything Harry might have wanted to say in response as the Gargoyle statue moved aside to reveal the rotating staircase beyond. The gentle tap tap tap of measured steps preceded the arrival of the right honorable Minerva McGonagall, Order of Merlin First Class, registered Animagus, currently reinstated headmistress pro tempore of Britain's renowned Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and definitely not someone to cross.

“Mister Malfoy, Mister Potter,” she said primly. “If you would kindly follow me to my office.” 

Harry narrowly avoided colliding with Malfoy as they both stepped forward at the same time. 

Priding himself on his superior manners, Harry gracefully extended his hand to let Malfoy ascend the stairs first. The arrogant prick barely acknowledged the gesture with a nod of his head. 

Harry gritted his teeth and was hard on his heels. “I swear, if your brat managed to cause my son-”

“Oh, spare me, Potter.” Malfoy whirled around in defiance of the rotating stairs and lowered his voice to a poisonous whisper. “We both know which boy would have inherited the propensity for compulsive rule-breaking, and it isn't my Scorpius.”

Malfoy's face was so close, Harry could see the individual shards of blue and white that made up the gray of his irises. Harry gulped but he stood his ground.

“If my son broke any rules, I bet your precious Scorpius was the reason why.” 

They were both so engrossed in their staring match that they did not notice the staircase reach the top until it came to an abrupt halt, causing both of them to stumble ungracefully into the main office of the headmistress. 

The large, circular room was mostly empty and devoid of noise until hushed murmurs started among the portraits of headmasters and headmistresses of yore as they caught on to the curious sight of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter in their office. Armando Dippet elbowed Basil Fronsac, who hurried into the frame of Heliotrope Wilkins to wake her from her slumber. Further along the wall, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore stirred in his gilded chair, yawning once before he adjusted the half-moon spectacles upon his nose, blue eyes twinkling as he stroked his beard to hide a smile. Severus Snape's robes billowed menacingly as he turned his back on the scene, warning off any whispering visitors with a venomous glare.

Headmistress McGonagall stepped behind the enormous writing desk in front of the portrait wall and cleared her throat, effectively silencing the lot without having to look at them. 

“Gentlemen, please have a seat.” She pointed her wand and summoned two chairs, both of which had tall straight backs and looked terribly uncomfortable. 

Harry continued to glare at Malfoy as he moved to sit. He was surprised to find his seat far more comfortable than it looked. He hoped with fervent vitriol that Malfoy's wasn't.

“As you have, no doubt, realized by now, you are here because of a recent incident between your sons.”

“No doubt started by the Gryffindor troublemaker.” Malfoy crossed his arms and tossed a contemptuous glare in Harry's direction.

Harry rolled his eyes. It came as no surprise that Malfoy would jump to conclusions based on nothing but prejudice and conjecture. And of course, he was completely wrong on all accounts. 

“As it happens, both students are members of Slytherin house,” said Minerva McGonagall. 

The statement jolted Malfoy so violently, he nearly choked on his own spit. 

Harry snickered under his breath, but was wise enough to quickly school his expression into one that somewhat resembled neutrality. 

Headmistress McGonagall continued, “And, under the circumstances they were found, it was clear that both culprits share equal amounts of blame, such as there is.”

Harry winced. This was not what he had expected from Albus. 

He was very aware that his older son James had inherited the troublemaker gene from Ginny's side of the family. For all that he looked a lot like Harry, the moment James Sirius Potter opened his mouth you couldn't help but to be reminded of his uncles, Fred and George Weasley, so much so that Harry found himself quite frequently thanking his lucky stars that James hadn't been born a twin. 

But Albus? Not only was he a spitting image of Harry on the outside; he also shared a lot of the characteristics that Harry himself had to work hard to overcome. His younger son was shy and prone to being reclusive. There was simply no way Harry could imagine Albus was responsible for whatever trouble he and the Malfoy boy had supposedly caused. 

“Are you quite sure?” Harry directed a pleading look at his former Transfiguration teacher and one of his reliable allies during the war. “I mean, if it was James... But I just can't imagine-”

“Oh, of course not!” Malfoy lost his temper. “Perfect Potter, with his perfect family, and perfect track record. Of course it would have to be all my son's fault.” He sat stiff as a rod, his interlocked fingers clenched tightly on his lap. “And I'm sure you will have no problem agreeing with him,” he said with a reproachful glare at McGonagall, “Seeing as he was always your favorite.” 

His head snapped quickly, like an owl's, in Harry's direction. “Heaven forbid, Perfect Potter Junior would have to own up to his part in whatever dastardly scheme got us summoned straight to the headmistress' office.” 

Malfoy's nostrils flared as he redirected his attention to McGonagall once more. “For which I was pulled out of a meeting with the Head of the Department of Mysteries, I might add.”

“Oh, come off it,” Harry scoffed. “That dotty old fool just likes to listen to himself talk. He hasn't had anything of importance to say since the battle in '96.”

Malfoy's eyes stabbed at Harry like shards of ice. “You mean the one where your recklessness caused the loss of no less than two dozen time turners, several thousand prophecies, as well as the only remaining original of Morgan Le Fay's diaries?” 

“Gentlemen.” Headmistress McGonagall tried valiantly to get their attention. 

Harry's blood roared too loudly to hear her. How dared Malfoy place the blame for that battle at his feet? If it hadn't been for Voldemort, not to mention Lucius Malfoy, Harry and his friends would have never been there in the first place!

“Yes, the same battle that started when your father tried to kill me. The one that ended shortly after your aunt killed my godfather.” 

“And the fact that some of my family members were less than honorable is enough to make my son guilty by association? You blazing hypocrite! How dare you-”

“Me? You're the one who-”

"Oh, for heaven's sake, stop it!” McGonagall's face was as red as the sunrise over the lake. “Your sons were caught snogging each other behind Greenhouse 3!"

“What?” Harry whipped around in his seat, blinking owlishly behind his glasses. 

“Impossible!” Malfoy's voice was breathless.

Harry would not have believed the other man could turn any paler, until he witnessed the blood drain from Malfoy's stricken face.

The reaction quickly sparked anger in Harry's gut. The red hot monster roared up his throat and charged in defense of his son. “And what is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means exactly what I said, that the very notion of my son snogging yours is preposterous! Impossible! It would never happen. Never!”

“You unbelievable, despicable git!” Harry was out of his seat and taking a deliberate step behind his chair to keep himself from lunging at the bastard. “I can't believe you'd sit there and say that when we both know that it's bloody well more than possible!” 

“What on earth are you implying?” Malfoy's fingers unclenched and his hands dropped to his sides as he stared at Harry aghast.

“You know exactly what!” Harry snarled, wrapping his fingers around the back of his chair to quiet the urge to strangle Malfoy. “You might have buried that skeleton deep in your closet, but we both know what happened in sixth year.”

“What?” Malfoy laughed incredulously. “You mean, you following me around like a love sick puppy, dogging my every move?” Color was quickly returning to his face as he leaned forward in his chair, relinking his fingers on his lap.

“Oh, no.” Harry sucked in air, wishing he could breathe flames like a Hungarian Horntail dragon. “No, no, no. That's not what I'm talking about. I was just trying to figure out what you were up to!” His eyes flitted to Malfoy's left arm, seeking out the spot where the pale shadow of the Dark Mark remained forever hidden under long sleeves. 

“Is that what you want to call your immature advances?” Malfoy sneered, his lips curled in disgust as his pointy nose wrinkled at the corners. “So sorry I didn't address them properly at the time. I was a bit preoccupied with the threat against my parents and my unexpected promotion to Death Eater assassin.” 

Harry was grinding his teeth so hard his jaw creaked to keep from shouting at the top of his lungs. “Not too preoccupied to entertain Zabini's advances in the locker rooms, though, were you?” He pressed the words out from between clenched teeth. 

“Mr. Potter!” McGongall had risen from her chair and slapped her hands down on the desktop so hard the sound reverberated off the walls. 

Behind her, any paintings that had remained blissfully unaware during the first part of the conversation were now harshly roused from their slumber. A rising murmur went through the crowd, loud in the otherwise silent room, as the late-comers were quickly filled in on what they'd missed. 

Harry wondered why she was so scandalized by this revelation. He was certain that McGonagall had known about Dumbledore long before everyone else and she had never seemed to take an issue when the truth was finally out in the open.

Her green eyes burned behind square spectacles as she purposely flattened her hands against the desk's surface and took a deep breath. The wrinkles on her stern face deepened as she lowered her chin to regard Harry with utmost finality. 

“We are not here to discuss your personal history or either of your proclivities,” she said primly, enunciating every syllable in her distinct accent. Then she sniffed. “We are here to discuss your underage sons skipping Herbology class in order to make out like a bunch of horny-” 

“Teenagers?” Malfoy interrupted with the quirk of one eyebrow. 

“I was going to say centaurs but, yes, 'teenagers' is more accurate, I suppose.” 

Harry felt a sour taste rise in his mouth. He had not expected this from Professor McGonagall. Anyone else, but not the woman whom he trusted implicitly. “In that case, I would like to know if it is now customary to summon the parents immediately when their children are caught snogging? Or is it just done when both snoggers happen to be of the same sex?” 

Malfoy snorted. “Snoggers? That's not even a word, Potter.” 

“Not the point.” Harry's fingers tightened on the back of his chair. The red hot monster inside his chest snarled, coiling up in preparation for a spectacular lunge. 

Headmistress McGonagall's mouth dropped open as she regarded Harry with unveiled disbelief. She shook her head and took a breath to collect herself before she addressed him again with a stern frown on her face. 

“Please, don't be silly, Mr. Potter,” she said as a matter of fact. “The reason you are here is because the two students involved in the snogging have the last names 'Potter' and 'Malfoy', which, I dare say, is the most volatile combination known to wizard-kind since someone thought to mix Hate Potion with Veritaserum and call it 'Tequila'.”

“Oh.” 

The monster went up in a puff of smoke and realization. McGonagall didn't care that two boys had been snogging. She was only concerned with the fact that the boys in question happened to be the sons of the most infamous rivals in the history of Hogwarts since Salazar Slytherin and Godrick Gryffindor. 

“Precisely.” She sniffed. “I for one thought it was wiser to inform you straight away and give you the chance to have it out in relative privacy, rather than sit back and risk this particular mixture blowing up in all our faces at some unknown point in the future. And it certainly looks like I was right.”

Harry cringed, feeling not so subtly reprimanded for his behavior not moments ago. 

Malfoy just looked unhappy. "Of all the kids in this school. Did it have to be your son?” His lips wobbled as if he was trying to restrain a pout and he made a put upon noise in his throat. “I'm not sure what is worse, the fact that his lineage is half-Weasley, Half-Potter, or all Gryffindor.”

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at the infantile dramatics. He had seen the very same expression on his daughter Lily's face a thousand times. She even made a very similar noise every time she was asked to put on a 'girly' dress. The thought twisted Harry's expression into a sarcastic smile. 

“What's the matter?” Harry drawled with false concern. “Afraid being in love with my Al will ruin your precious Scorpius' prospects for marriage into the Sacred Twenty-Eight?”

Draco made another derisive noise in his throat. “Please, Potter.” He put extra pop into the plosives. “Don't confuse an ill-advised snogging session with love, much less with the institution of marriage.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes, carrying on with his patronizing speech. “In pure-blood families, the former is rarely acquainted with the latter and teenage dalliances don't even... Wait, did you just say Al?”

Harry watched as every bit of color that Malfoy had regained drained once more from his pointed face and left him a pale shade of green. His sharp nose wrinkled as if he'd smelled something foul and his lips formed what in the Potter household was known as the 'Broccoli Sneer'. 

“Oh, Merlin. I think I'm going to be sick,” Malfoy said in a choked voice.

“Now, what?” Harry decided this was a good time to remove his glasses and give them a firm rub with the hem of his shirt. He did not need to see another one of Malfoy's dramatic impressions of Lily Luna Potter at age seven. 

“Every letter he sent, I've had to listen to Al this, and Al that. For weeks he's been going on and on and on.” Malfoy whimpered and collapsed in his seat. “My son thinks yours hung the bloody moon!” He finished with a spectacular whine. 

Harry's mouth twitched and he bit down on his tongue to keep from laughing. If he started, he wasn't sure he would be able to stop. And if Malfoy threatened to 'die over the injustice of it all', Harry was pretty sure someone would have to call the nice men from St. Mungos to take Harry away. 

He focused keenly on removing the non-existent smudges from his lenses and kept biting down on his tongue.

“Perhaps,” said Headmistress McGonagall in a calm and quiet tone, “this would be a good time to leave you two to talk.” 

Harry jumped a little in surprise. Through all of Malfoy's antics, he had completely forgotten the woman was still in the room. Malfoy looked a little flustered as well, momentarily distracted from his dramatic breakdown. 

“As far as skipping Herbology class,” she continued, “both boys have been given three days detention with Professor Longbottom. Everything else, I believe, should be left to the parents' discretion.” 

She graced them with a small nod, and retreated to her private rooms, closing the door behind her with a soft snick.

Harry and Malfoy were left to stare at the spot she had vacated in complete silence.

Minutes ticked by without a word.

Harry was keenly aware of the eyes turned on them from inside the portrait frames of previous headmasters and headmistresses. While some had chosen to return to slumber, quite a few were wide awake and watching them avidly. Unexpectedly, Dumbledore was among those who had chosen to close their eyes on the conversation. He was leaned back in his chair with his hands folded peacefully over his lap and his half-moon spectacles perched precariously on the very tip of his nose. 

After a long pause Malfoy broke the silence.

“Unacceptable.” 

Harry didn't respond right away. He was preoccupied, trying to grasp the impact this news would have on his family and friends. He knew Hermione would be be the easiest. She was smart, pragmatic, and always in support of Harry. She would worry about the academic consequences of a relationship between the two boys first, and Hyperion's socio-political orientation second. Everything else, to Hermione, would be completely inconsequential and therefore irrelevant. 

Ron's instinctive hatred of the name 'Malfoy' would be reined in by his wife's pragmatism. He would learn to see beyond the undesirable family name and accept things for what they were, grudgingly perhaps, but with the bone deep understanding that family came first and everything else would fall into place.

Arthur and Molly Weasley would love and support every single one of their grandchildren until they took their very last breath, come hell, high water, or any disaster in between.

What scared Harry, was that he had no idea how Ginny would take the news. She was raised to care about family every bit as deeply as Ron, however, her life had taken a vastly different direction from that of her brother once she left school. As the senior Quidditch correspondent for the Daily Prophet, Ginny was in the limelight more often than Harry these days, especially with the games in Qatar in full swing. 

While much of society was far more progressive after the Second Wizarding War, there were still many out there who would disapprove of a same sex relationship. It would be naive to think this news couldn't have a negative impact on Ginny's career. 

Harry would like to think she wouldn't care. He would like to think so, but then he would have to willfully ignore this morning's phone conversation.

And then there was Malfoy. 

Harry tried to imagine what he would do if both Ginny and Malfoy disapproved of the relationship between Albus and Scorpius enough to try and interfere.

'Two households, both alike in dignity.' The line floated through Harry's thoughts. His stomach flipped.

“Have you ever read Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet?” 

“Pardon?” Malfoy shook his head and turned to look at Harry with a puzzled frown. “What an absurd question. Well, of course I have! But I fail to see what that has to do with anything.”

“If you've read it,” Harry said slowly, “then perhaps you want to ease up on the 'impossibles' and 'unacceptables'.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Potter!” Malfoy stared at him, pointed chin dropped and mouth agape. “What on Earth do you take me for?” He held up his hand. “Don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question.”

Harry opened his mouth to make his point, but found himself cut off before he could say anything. 

“Let me make one thing clear, Potter. This is not Romeo and Juliet, and we are neither Montague nor Capulet. If you think for even a second-” He cut himself off and took a deep, steadying breath, sitting upright in his chair. “If my son came to me today and said that it has to be Albus Potter or none other, I will let the Devil take me before I let my personal issues interfere with my child's happiness. I may loathe you, my family may have taken issue with the Weasleys as far back as the First War, but I assure you, I will not let anything get in the way of making my only child happy. So if Scorpius wants to date,” he spat out the word like a sour grape, “your son, then I will bite off my own tongue before I tell him 'no' just because his last name is Potter.” 

Harry stood completely still, pole axed by the barrage of vehement words.

Malfoy smoothed his hand over his perfectly coiffed hair. “However, I will not tolerate being lied to, whether by omission or otherwise, and I will not accept delinquent behavior of any kind. So if I find that your child is a bad influence on my Scorpius, I will address it. Rule-breaking, including this incident, will not be excused.”

“I-” Harry swallowed. His stomach flipped again and he felt dizzy as the world tilted on its axis. “I agree,” he said breathlessly, numb fingers barely retaining their grip on his glasses.

“Good, that will make things considerably easier.” 

Harry was still too stunned to say anything.

Malfoy pursed his lips in thought, making his chin look even pointier than it normally was. After a moment's deliberation, he nodded to himself with a resolute hum of decision. 

“Very well,” Malfoy said.” I think losing one weekend at Hogsmeade, as well as one month's allowance should do for punishment.” He looked at Harry with thinly veiled contempt. “I understand it may be difficult for you, coming from a family of rule-breakers. But, do you think you will be able to defy nature and nurture to properly discipline your child? Just this once?” He raised one long, pointy index finger and quirked one pale brow. 

Harry's jaw dropped with a gasped laugh. “You are-” 

“Asking a lot,” Malfoy said quickly. “I'm aware of that.” He smiled thinly. 

“I have absolutely no problem disciplining my children when necessary,” Harry said in a low growl. 

He shoved his glasses back in place, and narrowed his eyes behind the thick lenses. It was crystal clear that Malfoy would never be anything other than a despicable git. 

“Good,” Malfoy said curtly as he rose from his chair. He smoothed out his robes and turned his pointy nose up at Harry. “Was there anything else?” 

Harry clenched his teeth. He shook his head very slowly. Malfoy was not worth wasting another breath.

“In that case,” Malfoy said, and then called out towards the closed door beyond the enormous desk, “Headmistress?” 

The door opened and Minerva McGonagall stepped back into the room with a stern expression.

“Mr. Malfoy?”

“I believe our business here is finished,” Malfoy said. He pulled an ornate gold pocket watch from his breast pocket and gave it a casual glance. “I should like to see my son now.” 

“Of course,” said Minerva McGonagall. “Mr. Potter, would you like to see Albus, as well?”

Harry raised his arm to look at his wrist watch. It was half past ten. If memory served, class was in full swing at this time. There was no reason to pull out Albus just for a scolding. Of course, Malfoy wouldn't give a damn about anyone else's time table.

“I can wait until class is finished,” Harry said, “if it's alright with you?”

A loud scoff from Malfoy drew Harry's attention. He cut a sharp glance in the other man's direction. He didn't like the look on that pointy face one bit.

“Actually,” McGonagall said, “6th year Slytherins have a free period at this time.” 

“Oh.” Harry could feel his blush like a strong gust of hot air on his face. “Right.”

Malfoy smirked arrogantly, Minerva looked uncomfortable, and Harry felt like he was trying to stand up straight in a tilt-a-whirl.

It was a topsy-turvy world in which Draco Malfoy, despicable git, was also an attentive, loving parent who knew his son's timetable by heart.

A world where Harry Potter, the boy who lived to defeat the Dark Lord, was also the man afraid to tell his wife their son was gay.

Then again, blind luck had always been on Harry's side. If Malfoy could accept a relationship between Albus and Scorpius, perhaps Ginny wouldn't take it so badly.

And perhaps if their sons could be a couple, Malfoy and Harry might finally lay their enmity to rest.

Malfoy's nasal chortle raised the heckles on Harry's neck.

Then again, perhaps not.

The End.


	2. And To All a Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas at Malfoy Manor has very little in common with Christmas at the Weasley Burrow. Except this year, there is one thing they both have to deal with.

The polite silence that cloaked the formal dining room on the ground floor of Malfoy Manor was only interrupted by the occasional quiet tinkling sound of polished silver utensils used on delicate china. Dinner at Malfoy Manor was a complicated affair fraught with tension at any time of the year, but never more so than during the holidays. To make matters worse, a particularly large proverbial elephant had claimed residence, which one half of the adults at the table tried desperately to ignore while the other half remained blissfully unaware. And this was only the third course of eight.

At the head of the table, Lucius Malfoy was taking in his pumpkin soup with the same passing interest one might give to a lengthy article on Ancient Dark Runes. On the other end of the long mahogany surface, his wife, Narcissa, primly spooned up the course one small mouthful at a time, her nose wrinkled in a perpetual sneer. Draco Malfoy sat ramrod straight to his mother's left, barely paying attention to his plate. He was too focused on alternating between subduing his son, Scorpius, with a glare, and exchanging worried glances with his wife, Astoria, across the width of the table.

Like everything in Malfoy Manor, the seating arrangements were very deliberate. The fact that Astoria was seated on Narcissa's right-hand side, the furthest possible place from Lucius, made it perfectly clear what the current head of household thought of his daughter-in-law. The fact that Draco had specifically instructed the staff to place him to the immediate left of Narcissa reflected an equally strong statement, making it perfectly clear what Draco thought of his father's opinion. Ironically Scorpius, the youngest heir to the family, was still blissfully unaware of the implications created by the fact that he was seated immediately to the left of his grandfather Lucius. Not unusual for a boy his age, Scorpius was primarily preoccupied with matters inside his own head, barely taking notice of the food he put in his mouth. 

Yes, dinner at Malfoy Manor was a complicated affair, indeed. One could only hope that this particular iteration would pass without any incident.

When the house elves cleared the soup and brought in the champagne sorbet, Draco allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Course four of eight and not a word had been spoken. So far, so good.

“Father, may I make a request?” Scorpius asked quietly.

Draco cringed. 

He did not have to accept his son's overture, but if he were to decline, it would raise Lucius' curiosity and draw unwanted attention.

“What is it, Scorpius?” Draco asked with a heavy glare at his son's bowed head. 

The pause that followed did not bode well. 

Draco exchanged a wary glance with his wife, twitching his brows towards Scorpius in a way that indicated he wished her to intervene. She chose to lower her gaze to the sorbet instead, dooming them all.

“I would like it if Al could come visit us for the New Year.”

Astoria inhaled a panicked breath, eyes wide as she raised her head and stared at Draco. Draco for his part could feel cold sweat break out on the back of his neck as he tried to think of an elegant, inconspicuous exit from this particular conversation.

“Perhaps,” he said slowly, trying to seem uninterested. “We'll have to discuss this after we check our schedul-”

“Who is this Al?” Narcissa cut him off. “Why have we never heard of him before?” 

Draco smiled thinly as he turned to his mother, feeling the weight of his father's stare like heavy hand on the back of his neck. 

“You wouldn't have,” he said with a wave of his hand. “The boy is a first generation Slytherin.” 

“First generation?” Lucius sounded scandalized. “What about his parents? Surely, he's not a mudb-”

Astoria cleared her throat so loudly it could have drowned the sound of an oncoming centaur stampede.

~~

At the same time, about two hours broom flight south-by-southwest of Wiltshire, outside the quaint village of Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon, Molly Weasley, the matron of the family, cleared her throat just as loudly, trying to be heard over the chaotic din inside the cozy living room jam-packed with her loved ones. 

A quick glance at the clock on the wall brought a smile to Molly's face. Everyone's hands pointed firmly to 'Home'. She stood up on her tip toes to look over the heads of two of her sons engaged in a chess match, another one playing exploding snap with his wife and sundry grandchildren, and a third bunch around the fireplace discussing Quidditch, among them her youngest and only daughter. 

“Ginny! Could you tear yourself away, dear? I need your help in the kitchen. Dinner's almost ready, but we still need an extension charm for the table and the dishes are being obstinate.”

“Coming, Mum!” Ginny got up immediately but bent down with a finger pointed sharply at her oldest nephew's nose. “Don't think this is over, Freddikins. Kenmare Kestrels my foot.” 

“Whatever you say, Aunt Ginnykins.” He stuck his tongue out, rolled his eyes, and took a sip of fire whiskey from his glass. 

Ginny stumbled over a pair of long legs on her way past Charlie and Ron to the kitchen. 

“I don't see why you still try.” She used Charlie's shoulder to right herself up. “He's got you check mate in two moves.” 

“What? How?” Charlie asked doubtfully.

“Oy, spoil sport!” Ron protested at the same time.

A loud bang went off behind her back. Ginny swiveled around to see a billow of smoke rise up between the group of five on the floor. 

“Not fair,” Percy whined. “That's the third time!” 

“Don't pout, dear,” his wife, Audrey, consoled him. “Remember, unlucky at cards, lucky in love.” 

She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, but he turned his face just then, and their lips met with a resounding smack.

“Ew. Gross.” Lily directed a broccoli sneer at her aunt and uncle. “Get a room!” 

“Lily!” Ginny leveled an admonishing glare on her daughter.

“What?” She drawled, rolling her eyes in true fourteen year old fashion, and then turned back to the group. “Anyway, up for another round?”

“Sure we are,” Audrey said with a smile, keeping one hand linked with Percy's. “Right, dear?”

“Yeah, alright,” Percy agreed with a grumble.

“Sure, me too.” James chimed in.

“Whatever,” Hugo said with an indifferent shrug, but then he quickly swiped up the deck of cards and started to shuffle. 

Ginny stepped through the doorway into the kitchen, where her father and Harry were embroiled in a discussion at the far corner of the table they were supposed to extend. 

“Ginny, great!” Hermione turned around from the stove with a smile. “Can you help get the table extended and move that wall? I'm busy with the potatoes, and your husband's no help.” 

“What else is new?” Ginny laughed as she pulled out her wand and pointed it at the wall between kitchen and living room. “Should I transfigure a beam for it, or do you think a temporary stabilizer will be enough?” 

“I'd go with both, just to make sure.” Hermione turned back to mashing potatoes. “Hurry, please. Dinner's almost ready.” She looked around. “Have you seen Fleur? She was supposed to-”

“I'm 'ere. I'm 'ere.” Fleur scuttled inside from the scullery, levitating a neatly folded stack of napkins onto the counter.

“Ah, there you are. Can you help Ginny?” 

Between the two, the wall was quickly pushed aside and stabilized, and both women turned to the table. 

“Everyone, 'ands off zee table, please,” Fleur admonished with a graceful wiggle of her fingers.

Harry and Arthur immediately moved aside, raising their hands with besotted smiles. 

Ginny rolled her eyes and brandished her wand at the long wooden table. 

“Ready?” She looked at Fleur.

“Ready.” 

They uttered the extension charm in unison, waving their wands in the complicated patterns in perfect accord. This wasn't their first rodeo, after all.

The legs moved across the floor as the table extended beyond the kitchen. A mighty screech, and then a heavy thump was followed by an impressive string of curses coming from the living room. 

“Oh, my gosh!” Ginny's eyes widened, and she rushed alongside the table. “I'm so sorry. Is everyone alright?” 

Seven sets of eyes glared up at her from the living room floor, where the table had just burst through and knocked over everyone like so many bowling pins.

“Seven out of ten,” her brother George said from his safe place on the sofa, less than three feet from the end of the table. 

“Not bad for a blind roll,” his son, Fred, added with a smirk from behind him. 

“Beds are ready.” Angelina stepped into the room, followed by her small army of helpers: her nieces Victoire, Molly, Lucy, and Dominique, as well as her daughter Roxanne. “The room assignments are on the wall by the bathroom.”

“Coming through!” Bill, Charlie, and Teddy clomped their way through the crowded room, arms loaded with stacks of firewood.

“Why do you always leave things to the last minute?” Molly Weasley the elder fussed after them from the doorway to the kitchen. “Hurry up now! Bring down the chairs. We still need someone to set the dishes.” 

“I'll help,” Albus said quietly from behind her.

Molly whooped and jumped a foot in the air.   
“Albus, sweetie,” she said with one hand pressed to her chest,”you nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

“I'm sorry, Nana.” 

“No, it's alright, it's alright.” She grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around, and gave him a gentle push. “Go on then, dishes for twenty-six, if you think you can handle it.” 

“I'll help!” Rose showed up out of nowhere from the other side of Molly.

“Ack!” Molly startled again. “I am too old for this! Off you go then.”

“Nonsense, dear.” Arthur walked past his wife with a chair in each hand, leaning over precariously to place a quick peck on her cheek. “You're as young and beautiful as you were the day we got married.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Her eyes widened as her hands flew to her mouth. “The goose!” she proclaimed and bustled off to the stove. “The ham!” 

“Don't forget, Mum,” George called out after her, and then imitated his mother's panicky voice. “The turkey!”

Rose and Albus managed to set the table, twelve places along each side and one at each end, without breaking any dishes. They were a mix of plates, bowls, glasses, and utensils pulled together from Molly's, Fleur's, and Hermione's respective 'good' dining and silverware, brought out only for the holidays and other special occasions.

The table creaked under the heavy load of food spread along its center. An enormous turkey, a whole ham, and a fat goose took up most of the space, flanked by pans and bowls of roasted and mashed potatoes, carrots, parsnips, sprouts, and broccoli.

“Come round, everyone,” Molly directed the herd with a capable wave of her arm. “Do we have enough chairs? Everyone's got something to drink? Louis! Put that fire whiskey down, right now, or so help me-” She glared sternly at her youngest grandson. 

“Louis!” Fleur's voice nearly put Molly's to shame. 

A barrage of French admonitions rained down on the boy like snails and frogs, reducing his lanky form to a shamefaced slouch.

“You can 'ave butter beer,” Fleur finished in English.

“Yes, maman. I'm sorry.” 

The incident was quickly forgotten as everyone found a seat at the table; family members scattered higgledy-piggledy according to their favorite dish or whom they'd been in conversation with before dinner started. 

Ginny ended up halfway down the length of the table between Hermione, who was lecturing Dominique on the proper use of levitation charms, and Lily, who was trying to stay as far away from the broccoli as possible. With a quick glance around the table, she found Albus and James next to their cousin Hugo at the far end, opposite of Harry's godson Teddy and their cousin Victoire. Harry was sitting to the right of her father who was at the head of the table, still deeply immersed in their discussion. 

Molly stood up from her seat on Arthur's left and cleared her throat.

“Everyone,” she said, waiting for the family to quiet down before she continued. “I know we're all starving, and dinner's ready, but I just wanted to say how wonderful it is to have you all here this Christmas, and that I hope we will have many more. Just like this.” 

Her eyes teared up a little as she looked over her children and grandchildren. Her damp gaze rested on Victoire and Teddy, holding hands at the far end of the table. 

“Perhaps, with even more family members in the near future.” She laughed at the groans coming from several of the existing family members. 

“So, in any case,” she said. “Here's to family. P-past, present, and future.” Molly raised her glass with one hand and quickly wiped her eyes with the other. 

Arthur grasped her trembling fingers as soon as she dropped her arm. A few seats down, Angelina reached below the table and clasped George's hand in hers, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. The solitary twin returned the gesture with a wistful smile and a grateful nod. 

“To family,” he echoed and raised his glass.

“To family.” 

“Hear, hear!”

The toast echoed around the table. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Molly said with a laugh. “Let's eat!”

Bedlam broke out as dishes were passed every which way and food was piled high on plates. There was plenty to go around, nobody would go to bed hungry tonight, but that didn't stop anyone from playfully fighting over their favorite dish, battling it out with butter knives, serving spoons, and dinner forks. 

“So, how are things at the Prophet?” Hermione leaned closer, raising her voice over the din.

“Same old, same old.” Ginny shrugged. “Well, they've been talking about making me editor for the sports section.”

“Oh, wow, Ginny, that's great!”

“Yeah, I'm not so sure.” 

She poked around the potatoes and tried to shrug it off. Of course, her sister-in-law was having none of it.

“What do you mean?” 

“I like where I'm at now,” Ginny said. “I'm not sure I want to give that up. Quidditch takes me places and you know how much I like traveling and getting to see new things.”

Ginny wasn't cut out for the normal nine-to-five, even less for being at home all the time. She loved her family, but every bone in her body was longing for adventure and new experiences. She was a social person who loved to surround herself with people. Just the thought of being stuck inside the four walls of Grimmauld Place with nothing to do all night but wait for Harry to get home? Unimaginable.

Ginny looked cross-ways down the table towards her husband. “I wouldn't know what to do with myself. And with Harry working all hours of the day and night? And the kids are growing up so fast...” She writhed uncomfortably. “I just don't think it's for me.”

“Ah,” Hermione said with a nod. “I get it. I couldn't do it, either. I remember, I was miserable at home back when it was just me and with Ron away all the time. I'll always be glad he quit the Aurors.” 

“Yeah, I bet.” Ginny smiled, trying not to sound jealous. “And I'm pretty sure he feels the same. Isn't that right, Ron?” She raised her voice towards her brother across the table.

“Huh?” He wrinkled his brows at his brother Charlie beside him. “What'd she say?”

Charlie shrugged with raised brows, indicating he hadn't heard.

“What was that?” Ron asked, leaning over the table in Ginny and Hermione's direction. 

Hermione raised her voice and leaned forward to be heard.

“Just talking about how glad I was when you quit the Aurors to join George.” 

“Ah, yeah. It just wasn't for us.” Ron shrugged. “They always made a huge fuss when you wanted to drop in for a visit, remember? And the hours sucked. I guess, we're just not all cut out to be full-time heroes.” He cocked his head in Harry's direction.

Ginny's smile froze as she followed her brother's gaze to Harry, who was still in fierce discussion with her father on the other end of the table. 

“Besides,” said Ron, “I was never the one on the government career track.” He grinned. “They'll have a much harder time bitching about family visits when you're Minister of Magic, right Mione?” 

“I told you that's not how it works, Ron.” Hermione rolled her eyes, but she did a bad job hiding the grin on her face. “And I haven't even been elected yet.” 

“They'd be mad not to. There's no one better.” He emphasized his point by shoveling a forkful of turkey and potato into his mouth as if there was nothing left to say on the matter. 

~~

“You have no say in this!” 

In the wake of Astoria's shrill outburst, it felt like the very air had been sucked out of the room, leaving behind a vacuum of silence. Everyone was holding their breath, staring at the delicate blonde woman as if she had metamorphosed in front of their eyes. 

“Astoria,” Draco said with a gasp.

“He has no right,” she said in a firm voice but with wetness in her glare.

Draco sat very still and did not look away from her as he placed his dessert fork horizontally across his plate and removed his napkin from his lap. 

“Scorpius, you are excused to your room.” 

“Yes, father.” 

The chair made an uncouth scraping noise, a testament to how quickly Scorpius was following Draco's request. 

Narcissa's concerned stare weighed on him as heavily as Lucius' glare from the head of the table. The only reason neither of them was shouting was because etiquette must be obeyed at all times. Draco's fingers felt very cold as he rested them on top of the tablecloth and very slowly turned his head to look at his father. 

“Father,” he said, “I'd like to have a word with you in the smoking room.” 

Lucius curled his lips in a sneer and sent a poisonous glance in Astoria's direction before he redirected his glare at Draco. 

“Very well.”

They moved into the adjoining room, where Draco proceeded straight to the bar, cast a chilling charm on two rocks glasses, and filled each of them with an indecorous amount of scotch. He handed one to Lucius and, after a perfunctory toast, immediately took a few quick gulps. 

Lucius observed Draco, his cold gray eyes shadowed behind hooded lids as he slowly raised his glass, took a small sip, and lowered it again. When he spoke, his voice rumbled like the ocean at the onset of a storm. 

“How long have you known about this travesty?” 

Draco did not bother to correct his father's appellation of the situation. He had learned over the years to choose his battlefields. 

“I was informed by Hogwarts staff a few weeks ago.”

“Weeks?” Lightning flashed in Lucius's eyes as he leveled his gaze on Draco. “How could you allow this to go on for so long?” He shook his head. “No, Draco. This ends now. You will rein in your wife and tell Scorpius he is to stay away from that boy.”

Draco took another sip from his glass. The liquid burned a trail down his throat and spread like a small fire in his stomach, warming him from the inside and providing him with the calm and strength to weather the storm. 

“I will do no such thing.” 

“Are you out of your mind?” Lucius roared. “That name has brought nothing but misfortune and shame to our family from the day we first heard it. I will not allow this! Scorpius will stay away from that Potter boy, and that is my final word on the matter.” 

Draco closed his eyes and saw the wet, angry stare of his wife imploring him across the dinner table; he saw the crestfallen expression of his only child as Scorpius witnessed for the first time the ruthless and frightening side of his adoring grandfather Lucius. For a brief second, even Harry Potter's face crossed Draco's mind as the other man had stood before him in the headmistress' office with spectacles in hand, his scarred face twisted in a fretful grimace, distressed over the future of their children. 

Draco took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, opening his eyes to look at Lucius not as his loyal son but as a father fighting for his only child. 

“You may say whatever you wish,” he said calmly, “But that won't change the fact that Scorpius has my blessing to be with whomever he chooses, and I will not allow anyone to interfere with this relationship.”

“You would dare defy me?” 

Lucius stepped closer. Draco raised his chin, rooted to the spot.

“If I must.” 

“I'll disown you!” 

Lucius trembled with rage and his face turned an ugly shade of puce. Inexplicably, a sense of calm washed over Draco at the same time. The thought of losing the manor, the family fortune, the Malfoy name and everything it entailed did not change anything. Draco knew where his priorities lay, and his father held no power over them. 

“Do as you wish,” he said with a shrug, “but know that it means you will never see Scorpius again.” 

“You wouldn't.” 

“Don't make me.” 

This was the first time Draco had stood firm in an argument, and it appeared his father wasn't handling it well. Lucius faltered, shifting onto his back foot. 

Draco almost didn't believe his eyes. His father never showed weakness unless he knew he was inferior to his opponent and without an avenue of escape. 

“Don't you see what's happening?” Lucius jerked his hand, sploshing expensive liquor onto more expensive carpet. “You're letting Potter tear our family apart!” 

Draco had heard many versions of the same song for as long as he could remember. He had sung it himself quite frequently in his youth. If things went wrong for the Malfoy family, Potter was to blame. 

In his present state of clarity, the statement seemed utterly ridiculous. Moreover, it was bred from the same injustice he had thrown in Potter's face only a few weeks ago: judging the son for his father's sins.

“The boy is not his father any more than I am you!” 

Silence. 

The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away the seconds as they stared at each other across the final divide. Neither was willing to cross. Face to face with his father's distraught expression, Draco found himself remarkably unfazed. Nothing Lucius could say would change his mind. The argument was over. Now it was up to his father to decide whether to see reason.

“If you truly care about Scorpius, and about me, you will not stand in the way, father.” 

“You're making a grave mistake, Draco.” 

“That may be,” he said, “but it is mine to make.” 

~~

With the Christmas pudding all but devoured, bedlam around the dinner table had dwindled. Conversation had dropped into the expected lull of full bellies and sated minds with the exceptions of Hermione and Percy, who were engaged in a quiet but lively debate about the latest change in dragon hide material quality regulations, and Harry and Arthur, who had carried on their discussion throughout the entire dinner. 

It was in this relative quiet that Albus cleared his throat and leaned forward. 

“Um, Mum?” he said hesitantly. 

“What is it, Al?” Ginny straightened up on her seat to look over the heads of Hermione and Percy.

“I've been meaning to ask...” 

Hermione and Percy politely paused their conversation, leaning back to make it easier for Ginny to understand the quiet voice of her younger son. Albus cleared his throat again. An uncomfortable but but determined expression settled on his face when he noticed he had inadvertently drawn several people's attention. 

“Perry's invited me over for New Years, and I really want to go, so, would it be okay if I stay at his place for a couple nights?”

“Oh.” 

Ginny was a bit surprised at the request. Of course she knew about Perry. She remembered Albus telling her about his friend from school since all the way back in first year. However, she'd never actually met the boy or his parents. Between her busy schedule and the Hogwarts calendar, it had just never happened. However, she was not too concerned. 

“Well, as long as his parents agree and we know where to reach you. We don't have any plans for New Years anyway. I'm sure it'll be all right.” Out of habit, she leaned in the opposite direction to confirm with her husband, even though she knew he had not been paying attention to the conversation. “Right, Harry?” 

Harry tore himself away from his discussion with raised brows and picked up his glass of nettle wine. “Sorry, what did you ask?” 

“I said it'll be fine for Albus to stay over at his friend Perry's for New Years, won't it?” 

Harry choked, spluttered into his wineglass, and suffered a violent coughing fit, barely managing to set his glass down without spilling any more. Ginny rolled her eyes and waited patiently for her husband to get over his clumsy moment to confirm her decision.

“I don't think--” The rest of Harry's answer was indistinguishable because of another coughing fit. 

“Are you all right?” Arthur leaned over and patted his back, brows furrowed in concern, as Molly bustled to fetch a glass of water. 

“Fine,” Harry croaked. He accepted the glass from Molly with a grateful smile and took a small sip before he turned to look cross-ways along the table at Ginny. “I don't think it's a good idea.” 

“What?” Albus burst out of his seat. “Why? That's not fair!” 

He glared down the table at his father who now stood up as well. Ginny, who had opened her mouth to ask a similar question, pursed her lips and looked between the two. She got the distinct impression that there was something she had not been told. Her gaze snapped onto Harry. The family got very quiet as everyone waited for an explanation.

“Al, it's not about that,” Harry said cryptically. “I just don't think it's a good idea for you to stay at Perry's house.” 

“Why? If it's not because of me and him then what--”

“Wait,” Ginny said, holding up her hand. “What do you mean 'you and him'?”

“I just don't think you would be safe there,” Harry continued, ignoring her question.

“Why wouldn't I be?” Albus asked heatedly. “Perry would never do anything to hurt me.” 

“It's not Perry I'm worried about.” 

“Then who? His dad's fine with us, you said so yourself.” 

Ginny had heard enough.

“What in Merlin's name is going on!” She slammed her fist down on the table, rattling the dinnerware and making everyone jump.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see James and Lily shrink in their seats, trying to make themselves invisible. Obviously, they knew more than she did as well. She could feel her blood begin to boil.

Harry braced his hands on the back of his chair and squared his shoulders. 

“Perry is just a nickname. The boy we're talking about is Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. Albus wants to stay at Malfoy Manor for New Years.” 

An unmistakable hush of shock settled over the older adults around the table as the younger generation exchanged confused glances, looking for an explanation. 

Ginny blanched. Her stomach revolted, and if she had not been sitting, she might have fallen over.

“No.” She barely managed to press the word through her teeth.

“What?!” Al's voice broke in indignation. “But Mum!”

Ginny would not budge. He could be furious, he could be sullen, he could hate her for the next ten thousand years, she was not letting her baby walk into a deathtrap. “Al, no. That's final.” 

“But that's not fair!” 

“Listen to your mother, Al.” 

Ginny bolted out of her seat, rounding on Harry. 

“Oh, don't you even-” She cut herself off, nostrils flaring as she sucked in a breath, fighting to keep a hold on her temper. “This is both of us. You and I, together. What that family has done to us. All of us.” She motioned around the table, her finger trembling. Turning back to Al, she continued in a resolute tone. “You're not going to Malfoy Manor and that's final.” 

She tried not to let her son's crestfallen expression hurt her but it was like holding your open palm over a candle. Ginny could feel her heart begin to burn and blister as his brilliant green eyes filled with tears and his bottom lip began to tremble. 

“But I love him,” Al said in a choked voice.

“What?” Ginny screeched.

“Ginny!” Harry bellowed. 

She snapped her head around, her lips pressed tightly together. This was his fault. He'd known, and he had not said a word. Now she looked like the villain, and he just stood there like a battered hero, all hunched shoulders and furrowed brows. She hated him. Hated that. She hated that about him.

“Can we talk?” he said. “Alone.” 

Ginny didn't answer. She was too mad to open her mouth without screaming in his face, so she kept her lips pressed together, pushed back her chair, walked out of the room, and climbed the stairs. 

When she got to her old bedroom she resisted the urge to slam the door behind her. Instead, she waited for Harry in front of the window. She was ready. Ready to scream until he heard her. Ready to tear into him until she found the rotten bit that had betrayed her, pulled it right out and made him come to his senses. 

He showed up with hunched shoulders and his glasses hanging from his fingers. 

“Ginny--”

“You lied to me!” She was so angry she was shaking. “You knew, and you lied to me!”

“I didn't lie. I just--”

“You knew, and you said nothing! You let our baby get lured in by the son of a Death Eater, and you said nothing!” 

“That's not--” His face crumpled in confusion. “Ginny. That's not what this is. Don't you see? They're just boys. They're in love.”

Ginny's head spun. Her baby was not gay. He was not in love with the son of a Death Eater. This was a trick, an insidious plan hatched by the Malfoys. How could Harry not see that? How was he still so naive after all these years? After everything they had been through? After everything she had been through?

She remembered the diary. Remembered all the sweet nothings and the false flattery. Remembered falling for it hook, line, and sinker, doing terrible things because she couldn't control herself. Because she loved him.

“I thought I loved Tom Riddle!”

Harry's eyes widened as all color drained from his face. A cold thrill of triumph lanced through her at the sight. It turned into thick, roiling nausea when his shattered expression transformed into one of pity. 

“God, after all these years?” He shook his head. “Ginny, it's not the same. Perry's just a boy. He's just a sixteen year old boy. There's no harm--”

“Malfoy was just sixteen when he tried to kill Dumbledore!” 

Harry's eyes flashed. “And I was seventeen when I killed Voldemort.” 

“It's not--” She clamped her lips shut before she could finish the sentence. She would not fall into his trap. Instead, she squared her shoulders and asked very calmly. “How can we be sure that Lucius Malfoy isn't using him to get to you?” 

“How?” Harry asked bluntly. 

“By destroying your reputation! What do you think will happen when this hits the news? Famous Harry Potter's son is gay! Son of the Boy Who Lived dating son of a Death Eater! It's going to ruin us!” 

Harry dropped his chin and started to polish his glasses. She wanted to snatch the damn spectacles from his hand and throw them out the window. She knew what this was: a stalling tactic. Harry always polished his glasses when he didn't have anything to –

“You mean ruin you?” he asked quietly. 

“What?” 

“I'm an Auror, Ginny. My job is to investigate dark arts crimes and to enforce the law. Albus being gay doesn't have any impact on that.”

Ginny barked out a breathy laugh. Her stomach was a ball of lead and she was cold all over. She felt like someone trying desperately to hold on to two people determined to throw themselves over a cliff. And Harry just shrugged! How could he not see what was happening? Their baby was hurtling toward a terrible danger right in front of their eyes. 

“You don't think there's going to be backlash when they find out? You're naive. They'll tear him apart.” 

“I think most people are good. I believe that we've come a long way in accepting people for who they are, and I'll deal with whoever thinks they can take me on when it comes to my son's right to love and be happy.”

Ginny couldn't stop shaking. Her husband was standing right in front of her, but she had never been so alone in her whole life. 

“You're insane.” 

He stood like a statue. She knew the pose. Harry Potter had drawn the line, stood tall, and nothing on this earth would make him budge. 

“I'm the boy who bloody lived. Twice.” 

She sobbed. Tears exploded from her eyes and she couldn't hold them back. Her baby was gay. Her baby was in love with the son of a Death Eater, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Ginny opened her mouth and sucked in a long, trembling breath. 

When she released her scream, it was muffled by the thick wool of her husband's Weasley Christmas sweater. Harry held her close and hugged her tightly as she wailed and cried and drummed her fist against his chest. Harry's fingers combed through her hair and she could barely hear his low voice rumble above her head.

“It's going to be okay. We're going to be okay.” 

~~

Very late that same night, Draco and Astoria were awake, side by side in their ornate bed, their backs propped up against overstuffed pillows. He pretended to concentrate on the latest publication of Far East Magical Artifacts while her ribbon curled head was bent over a round frame dedicated to magical needle point. 

Draco's gaze was on the pages, but his mind was far off elsewhere, concentrated on the same thought that had plagued his mind since dinner. He hadn't said anything after the subject matter was so vehemently closed, but it hadn't left him alone. Finally, the nagging thought forced its way out of his mouth.

“He'll never allow it,” Draco said, “There is simply no way in heaven or on earth that would move Potter to allow any of his precious spawn to set foot on the grounds of Malfoy Manor.”

The terrible part was that Draco couldn't blame him for it, either. After everything that had happened in this house during the final days of the war …

Astoria stopped the needle in mid air, the thin silver metal glinting in the light of the lamp. She cocked her head to the side. Her pretty button nose wiggled as she pursed her lips, thinking quietly for a long moment before she clicked her tongue.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully after a long time. “My family does still own that country cottage in Sussex.” She chanced a careful glance towards her husband. “It does have four bedrooms.” She shrugged. “And it's not like we necessarily have to spend New Years at the Manor with your parents.”

Draco's eyes widened. The thought had never even occurred to him. 

“We couldn't possibly,” he said skeptically. “Potter would never...” He trailed off as he deliberated the thought. “Would he?” 

Draco's face fell, and he twisted his mouth in an expression of disgust and resignation. “Oh, bollocks, now I'm really going to have to ask him, aren't I?”

Astoria reached over above the covers, patted his cold hand with warm fingers, and shrugged with a consoling smile.

“I would offer to talk to his wife, but we simply don't navigate the same circles.” She snickered. “Honestly, can you imagine Ginevra Potter at a DoM meeting?” 

Draco tried to visualize the mouthy, abrasive redhead at a meeting for the 'Daughters of Morgana', an exclusive group for pure-blood witches who could trace their lineage back to the famous ancient witch.

“Definitely not,” he scoffed. “But that doesn't change the fact that I hate the very idea of having to ask Potter for anything.”

“I know, dear, I know.” She bit her bottom lip and gripped Draco's hand a little tighter. “But it would mean so much to Perry.” She leaned closer, rested her cheek on his shoulder, and added in a low voice, “And I certainly wouldn’t mind spending one holiday without your father's unveiled disapproval following me around constantly.” 

Draco made a put upon noise in his throat and rolled his eyes as he huffed out a breath.

“Oh, all right,” he said above his wife's delighted noise of approval. “I'll see if I can get a hold of him Monday at the Ministry. But I make no promises, and we won't breathe a word of this to Perry, or anyone, until we know for sure.”

“Wonderful!” Astoria wrapped her arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek with warm affection. Her needle point tumbled to the floor unnoticed. “That's wonderful. You'll see, it'll be perfect.”

Draco rolled his eyes again. “Your word in Merlin's ear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was started last year around Christmas. It took until now to finish. It's a follow up to the first part.


End file.
